Injured Sick Sam Winchester Stories
by laurenmdean
Summary: Just various stories of injured/sick Sam Winchester. No specific order, some are teen-chester and some are when they are both adults. Please comment/review. It would be very much appreciated.
1. Sam Dies

**Sam dies…**

Sam sat up in bed and the hotel bed, his stomach turning uneasily. The nausea had caught him unexpectedly and awoken him from his first deep sleep in weeks. He threw his legs over the edge and let his feet hit the cold floor, just as the acid burning began rising in the back of his throat. From there, he extended his long arms for the wastebasket sitting next to his bed. After he slid it right under his hunched over form, he began to dispel the contents of his stomach. Luckily, he hadn't eaten much tonight, so nothing to major came back up, but this meant that more stomach acid was going to climb up his esophagus. His body was shaking and his hands and legs felt weak when he was finally finished. Straightening up, he looked over to Dean's bed and realized that it was empty.

"Hm." Sam managed to say, before he knew he had to get up and get rid of the evidence of him getting sick. He knew this would only hinder the case they were on, and no way was Sam going to give Dean a reason to blame him for something else. He tried to rise from the scratchy motel sheets, but his legs ached, in fact, his whole body ached. He sat for a second before making a second attempt, and succeeding. He grabbed the trash bag out of the trash can, and the smell of the vomit made his stomach churn, but he had to do it. Sam grabbed the key card off of the end table, and went out to throw the bag into the dumpster around the back of the hotel. When he opened the door, Dean's car was not parked out front, and this made Sam shrug his shoulders. "Probably out hustling the locals out of house and home" Sam concluded, letting out a small pained chuckle. His long and slow adventure to the dumpster began as he shuffled his feet because his legs were too sore to bear the feeling of picking them up.

He dropped the damp trash bag into the dumpster and took a minute to take a breather. He noticed the run down condition of most of the motels they stayed in where, but this one was different, this was a whole new definition of run down. The bricks were even beginning to chip away off of the building. The vines were let run rampant up the East side of the building, and where resting against most of the air conditioning vents in the rooms, which was a fire hazard. Sam realized he needed to get back to the room, the cold air was doing nothing for his wheezing and the smell of the garbage was doing nothing for his stomach. He pushed his body off of the side of the trashcan and the world began to spin. Sam tried to throw out his hands in front of him to catch himself the minute he knew he was going down, but he couldn't get his sore arms to cooperate. Before he knew it, he felt a hard surface impact his right cheek. _At least I turned my head. _He thought to himself, as he realized the concrete was wet and it was soaking through his clothes. Sam put his arms underneath his body to lift himself up, but they just buckled at the elbow and he fell back down, once again on the right side of his face, which he noticed was stinging. _Probably busted it open. _He was laughing on the inside. But he knew he had to get himself back to the room and cleaned up before Dean made the arrival back to their room. Like it was on que, Sam heard the Impala's engine arrive in the parking lot. _Damn it. _Sam cursed to himself. He knew he would have to explain why he was on the ground and not getting up, he knew Dean would put two and two together, and Sam would be in for a scolding, and a fresh batch of steaming hot blame would be laid on his plate.

The squeaky hinge of the driver's side door of the impala squeaked and he knew Dean was getting ready to bust in the room and rub in his winnings. But he would soon realize Sam wasn't there and start to worry. _My cell phone. _Sam concluded, he had to get it out of his pocket and assure Dean that he just went to get some food or something. That would buy him some time to find an excuse for his now soaking wet clothes and his busted face; it would also give him enough time to find a way to get off of the ground before someone saw him laying here and called 911. Sam tried to get his arms to reach around to his pocket but they protested and staid where they were. _Damn it. _Sam once again cursed. He picked up his hand slightly and noticed his knuckles were bleeding badly. But upon closer examination Sam realized there was no wound on his hands, at all. This confused him, but he soon felt the source of the blood. A white hot pain shot across his hip. He let out a grunt and managed to roll himself onto his side. He looked down, and noticed the pooling blood and the glass on the ground underneath his body. _Another thing to explain to Dean. _Sam thought. He willed himself to sit up slowly, because the contents of his stomach were once again getting riled up. He pushed hard on the wound over his hip bone, with a lot of pain, he knew he had to stop the bleeding. Sam sat for a second, and finally made the resolve to call Dean and ask him for help, but he had to think of a way to explain this. _Well, the injury is over my hip bone, I could just say I can't stand up because of it. That would probably work; this does look deep enough to cause some damage. _Sam hissed as he released the pressure on the wound, and began slowly digging around for his phone, upon his fingers touching it; he drew it out of his pocket. Speed dial number one, then the green button, Sam didn't even have to focus to operate his phone, which was a good thing because his head was spinning and his vision was blurring slightly.

"Oh shit" Sam groaned as he realized he had maybe a couple of more minutes of consciousness. He listened as the phone rang and rang, and on the third ring, he heard the gruff voice answer,

"Sammy, where are you?"

"Dean, East side of the building, you need to come…" but Sam's voice faded out as he erupted into a coughing fit. Some blood spewed out of his mouth and onto the ground. Sam stared at it for a minute before the blackness surrounded his being, and he let the warmness take him.

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"Aw guys tough luck" Dean chuckled as he exited the dive bar not far from the hotel room. His hand held a wad of cash, only ones and fives so nothing to get too excited about. But enough for him and Sam to have a good meal in the morning with, he chuckled as he approached his car. "I should probably call Sam." Dean sighed to himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket. But he quickly set it on the hood of his car. _Kids probably asleep, plus, I need some time away. _Dean concluded as he slid the phone back in his jacket. He climbed behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition, revving the engine, he peeled out of the parking lot, and back on his way to the motel room. The ride was quite, he didn't want to listen to any music, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone disturbing the peace, so he had his windows rolled up, and his heater blasting. The clanking from the legos he shoved down there years ago rattled loudly. _I hope Sam is asleep when I get back. _Dean thought to himself, as he pulled up in the parking spot in front of the room. He noticed something was off though, the lights were all dimmed in the room, but the door was slightly open. His heart skipped a quick beat, and Dean exited the car hurrying to the trunk, he popped it, and lifted the secret latch. There was a shotgun sitting front and center, and he grabbed it. Holding it at the ready, he approached the door slowly, pushing it open with the end.

"Sam?" Dean called out into the room. There was no answer. Dean then flicked the lights all the way on and noticed no one was here, but the room did have a putrid smell to it. Dean gagged slightly, only to recognize the scent, _puke? _Dean questioned as he walked over to Sam's bed. He noticed puke strewn on the side of the blanket. _Oh god Sammy. _Then his phone rang, the familiar ring tone meaning Sam was trying to get his attention. He couldn't get it out of his pocket, and hoped he didn't miss the call. As soon as it was in his hand, he flipped it open. "Sammy, where are you?" He practically yelled. _So much for remaining calm. _He told himself. But when Sam started to speak, he knew something was very wrong.

"Dean, East side of the building, you need to come…" Then nothing, not a sound, like the phone had hung up.

"SAM!" Dean yelled into the small phone. When he got no answer he ran out of the door. _East side of the building. _He told himself as he sprinted. When he finally reached it, he realized it was really to dark to see anything, so Dean did what Dean did naturally…call out to his brother and hope to god he was able to answer. "Sammy?" Dean called warily. In response there was a gagging cough, and Dean recognized it. "Sam?" Dean called again, and followed the coughing to about four feet away from the dumpster. He dropped to his knees next to his brother and put his head in his lap. "Sammy, speak to me, what's wrong?" Dean knew the chances of Sam answering in his current state were slim to none, but he figured he would give it a try. He slapped Sam's face lightly, and when that didn't work, he began rubbing on Sam's shirt to see if he can find something. It only took a minute for Dean to feel the warm liquid soaking Sam's shirt. He lifted it up so he could see it in the tiny floodlight, and indeed there was now blood dying Dean's hand red. "SAM?!" Dean yelled shaking his brother lightly, but rough enough to finally get a response out of him.

"Dean?" Sam asked weakly. His eyes were darting side to side, and he looked very confuse and very pale, to pale for his brothers liking.

"Sammy, it's ok, we are going to get you some help ok?" Dean choked back tears as he reached for his cell phone, the only way Sam was going to make it was if Dean called 911 and he knew that.

"Dean, why is it so cold?" Sam asked, his eyes beginning to close.

"No Sam, sorry you can't do that, you can't go to sleep ok?" Dean asked him smacking his face a little more. "Now I want you to keep your eyes on me, tell me a story, or sing me a song, something." Dean prodded as he waited for the 911 operator to come on the line.

"911 what is your emergency?" The operator's calm voice came over the receiver.

"My brother has been hurt; I need an ambulance at the Chester Motel." Dean kind of yelled. The nice voice on the line put the phone down, and he heard her voice saying something to someone, then she got back on the phone.

"You are going to need to calm down sir; the emergency crew is on the way." Assuring him made him feel no better, just more scared. "Now sir, can you stay on the line with me until emergency service…" Dean hung up the phone and placed it on the ground, turning his attention back to the wavering Sam. His eyes were fluttering, he was trying to keep them open, and Dean saw that, but he knew that Sam wasn't going to be able to stay conscious much longer.

"Sammy listen to me, you can't fall asleep on me ok? I mean, this injury isn't even that bad." Dean assured him, but the tears welling up in his eyes would have said different.

"De'n, d'nt cry." Sam kind of chuckled, his bloody lips spreading apart into a smile. But it faded as fast as it came, and Sam's raspy breaths stopped.

"SAM!?" Dean yelled. When there was no answer, Dean checked for Sam's pulse. Nothing. "SAM!" Dean yelled as he grabbed his brother's head and cradled it. "No, you can't do this. I hear the sirens you little bitch" Dean tried everything to get Sam to open his eyes again, but nothing, and by the time the paramedics showed up and dragged Sam out of Dean's hands, he had been dead for at least six minutes.

The woman paramedic held onto Dean, while the large male began working on Sam. He inserted a tube down Sam's throat, then looked up at the female paramedic,

"We have a slight thready pulse; we need to get him in now." His voice was stern and strict. She looked at Dean with her bright blue eyes and apologized swiftly. She ran to Sam's side, and Dean was frozen in place. He watched as they lifted Sam onto the stretcher, and as they loaded him in the ambulance. When Dean offered to ride along, the paramedics informed him there was going to be no room in the back, and Dean quietly stood aside, his heart and soul in tethers and the shock of everything happening so quickly finally setting in. With the ambulance sirens now fading, Dean slumped to the ground, his hands covered in Sam's blood. The tears began to drip down his cheeks; he didn't know what to do.

Quickly he collected himself, and lifted his body off of the ground. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and he jumped behind the wheel of his car. _I will be there when Sam wakes up. _Dean coaxed himself to start the car.

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The hospital smelt strange as Dean hovered over a nasty cup of coffee. His face nearly between his knees, the sensations of exhaustion and worry flooded his entire being. He had just gotten off of the phone with Bobby who would be here as soon as he could. Dean glanced down at his watch and rose from the uncomfortable chair in the "person waiting room". He had a cousin once when he was younger, and when she got into a car accident, they put the family in a room like this, so they could break the bad news about her being dead without freaking out the rest of the waiting room. _Sammy you better not die on me or I will bring you back just to kill you. _Dean scolded to himself.

"Are you the brother of Sam Smithson?" A gruff voice asked, making Dean spin around quickly. He hadn't even heard the man open the door.

"Yeah, I am." Dean rushed to the doctors' side.

"Well, Sam is very lucky. We lost him three times on the operating table, but we were able to bring him back every time, he sure is a fighter. But his kidney was cut open, and he had a lot of internal bleeding." The doctor closed his chart and looked at Dean.

"Well doc, does that mean he is going to be ok?" Dean prodded, giving the man a very stern Winchester look.

"Well, in a sense, yes. But, we had to remove the Kidney. Meaning, he is now going to have a hard time doing things of contact, because, well, if he gets hit on his side of his good kidney and damages it, there isn't another one to compensate, and then things will get very tricky. But besides that, we recommend Sam staying here for the next couple of days to rest and make sure there are no complications from the surgery." The doctor informed a now relieved looking Dean. His pager went off, and he apologized and rushed out of the room. But in a passing glance the doctor yelled to Dean, "room number 311, I am sure he will be glad to see you."

Dean immediately bee-lined for the elevator, sure he couldn't get up there fast enough. When he reached the door, he saw Sam was still asleep, a tube going through his nose, and monitors beeping, Dean took a seat right next to his bed. _You see Sam I told you I would be here when you woke up. _Dean chuckled to himself. He grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed tight. The tears welling up in his eyes.

"Everything is going to be ok now Sammy. I promise." Dean whispered.


	2. Sick & Alone

**Sick and Alone…**

The day had only started, and Sam immediately knew something was wrong, since the moment he woke up in the shabby motel their dad had picked out for them, he knew something was going on with his body. He didn't know what it was, and he didn't want to take any day away from going to school, a school he knew he was only going to be in for a couple of weeks while his dad and Dean hunted the latest supernatural dirt bag, which happened to be a coven of vampires.

"Sam?" A familiar voice called out to him. He snapped his attention to a tall blonde girl who was smiling widely at him. "Do you need me to walk you home today?" The smell of her perfume wafted into his nose, and no matter how much he tried to smile, he felt a familiar waving pressure building up in his stomach.

"Can you hold on for just one second?" Sam asked the girl as her face turned to worry.

"Are you ok?" She asked as she leaned into Sam and put a hand on his forehead. She looked very scared. "Sam, you're burning up." She informed him. "You need to go see the school nurse." Her voice was dripping with worry. But the only thing Sam was worried about was loosing his breakfast all over the pretty girl's shoes the second day of school.

"No, I think I will be fine. I just have to go use the bathroom really quickly." Sam commented fast, ducking out of arms reach of the girl, her hand still where his forehead was.

Sam ran for the nearest bathroom, and upon entering, he darted into the closest stall and his stomach revolted, making a mess of the toilet and the surrounding wall. He was on his hands and knees and they both felt very weak after the puking session. His 14 year old body was aching all over, and though he knew he was getting sick, he didn't see it a reason to bother Dean nor his dad over it, after all they had enough on their minds these past couple of days. So Sam just sucked it up and made do with Tylenol and water bottles, but even now that didn't seem to cut it anymore. His body felt freezing cold to him, and the shivers came in painful waves that he couldn't stop. _Maybe I better go home before I pass out at school. _Sam concluded, rising from the floor. He exited the pale green stall, grabbed his book bag he threw to the side in his rush and exited the bathroom all together.

The walk from the school to the shabby motel was a little less than a mile, and Sam knew he could do it; after all, he had done worse with much more sickness surrounding him. So, he began the journey back to the roach infested building. Upon arrival, Sam dug his key out of his back pack and inserted it into the door, a new wave of tired washing over him; he dropped his bag and headed for the bed furthest from the door, tossing himself on it. He let everything just fade away in the quite, not thinking about anything else but sleep.

Sam's eyes opened to the room being completely dark, and his phone vibrating and lighting up. He reached for it blindly, finally finding it with his pointer finger he slid it over to himself, too lazy to see who it was, he just flipped it open,

"Hello?" He asked groggily.

"Sammy?" A worried voice broke on the other line.

"Dean?" Sam asked stupidly. Now beginning sitting up.

"What the hell Sam, I have been trying to reach you for hours. I got a call from your school saying you didn't show up to your afternoon classes, do you care to explain?" Dean yelled into the phone. "I don't want to have to involve dad in this, but I will." Dean warned a little quieter.

"I just wasn't feeling well, so I left early, and I came back to the motel, and I have been asleep since." Sam explained.

"Wait, what's wrong? Do I need to come home?" Dean asked, worried.

"No, no, Dean. Don't worry I will be fine. I just have a cold. I will be fine. Finish the hunt and then come home with dad in one piece please." Sam convinced him. He heard a sigh and then figured Dean was rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well, if anything gets bad…" Dean began.

"I will call you or dad." Sam finished letting out a little chuckle, but it made his head begin to pound. "Goodbye Dean, see you in a few days." Sam ended; he then hung up the phone. His headache escalated quickly, and now he was starting to get dizzy and nauseous. _I better go get something from the vending machine; I guess I do need something to eat. _Sam concluded as his stomach began to speak to him. He picked up his key off of the side desk and trudged out of the room, his entire body protesting against his moving. Once outside in the cold winter air, Sam made his way to the front of the hotel where the drink and snack machines where. It was then that he noticed an elderly looking lady sitting outside of her room. She was just staring into the distance, a sketch pad laying out across her lap, and the sunset was pasteled beautifully on it. Sam was so captivated he didn't even notice the woman was now looking at him.

"Young man, can you come here for a second?" She asked him. Sam stood for a minute but decided to approach the elderly woman.

"Yes ma'am?" Sam asked as he was a safe distance from the woman, but still within ear shot of her.

"You don't look so good son. Are you sick?" She asked him, the genuine worry spilling out of every wise wrinkle on her face.

"Yes ma'am, just a cold though. I should be better in no time." Sam assured her, but he was more doing it for himself. Just on cue he let out a long gagging cough. "I better get going; I shouldn't be out in this cold air." Sam concluded as he walked away from the woman. He heard her sigh, but continued to the machines.

Once there, he looked through the options and saw that a Coke and a candy bar was his best option, he pulled out a couple of loose dollar bills he jacked from Dean's jacket and used them. Once the candy bar and soda were tucked safely in his pocket, he made the journey back to the room, taking the long way so he didn't run into the old woman again.

The heat was on in the hotel room, but Sam just couldn't seem to get warm. He ordered three more comforters from the front desk and when they arrived he had wrapped himself in them, but still cold. Sam decided it was time to take his temperature, even though he dreaded doing it, knowing the result it would spit out. He trudged over to the medicine cabinet in the small bathroom and opened it, pulling out the first aid kit. He grabbed the thermometer and shoved it under his tongue, walking back to the bed, he sat down.

The thermometer felt like it took forever to beep, but when it finally did, Sam jerked it out of his mouth, reading the number over and over again to make sure he had it right. _Shit, 103.9. _Sam thought. His vision blurring slightly, but he tried to ignore it. _What am I going to tell Dean? _The thought rang through Sam's skull, only intensifying the beating that was already happening. _I will just lie down and it will be better in the morning. _Sam kept chanting as he laid out the three extra comforters on the bed. Climbing underneath them, Sam drifted into a deep sleep.

"Sam?" A familiar voice asked. Sam felt his eyes fluttering open and his body was shaking, making everything sore. He had a feeling his fever had risen and he knew it was bad, because no matter how sure he was he heard a voice, a look around the room proved he was in fact alone. The sun was shining bright outside of the window. _Shit, school. _Sam thought as he tried to jump out of bed. His legs failed him though, and he fell flat on his face. He lifted himself back onto the bed with a lot of strength, and he felt like he could sleep for days now. He breathed heavily, and he felt like his lungs needed to be drained, so he coughed roughly. But once he started he felt like he couldn't stop. He reached for the water bottle on the end table and took a couple of sips, just enough to wet his very sore throat.

"AHH." Sam groaned as the cool water rested in his empty belly. "I didn't even eat last night." Sam remembered as he noticed the candy bar and soda on the end table. He reached for them, but noticed the thermometer sitting on the edge. "I might as well." Sam concluded, even though he just had a swig of water he figured he would add point two to the end result. He popped it in his mouth and he waited patiently for it to beep. When it finally did, his mouth dropped open at the number. 104.2. "Shit." Sam cursed aloud. He knew he was in trouble because no matter how much medicine he had taken, no matter how much water he drank, and how much rest he was getting, he was still getting sicker, and he didn't know why. "Well, I guess it is time to call Dean." Sam concluded. He was going to regret Dean's reaction when he tells him how far he let this get. But, like it was a script in a bad movie, Sam heard the Impala's engine pull up outside of the hotel room. Sam wanted to run and hide behind the bed, think of an excuse for looking like crap, and the room being trashed. But before he could even the think, the door flew open, Dean had his bag thrown over his shoulder and a sucker hanging out of his mouth. The minute he saw Sam sitting on the side of the bed, he dropped everything and rushed to his side.

"Sammy?" Dean asked as he put his hand on Sam's forehead. "Sam?" Dean asked, shaking Sam. But Sam was too out of it to answer him coherently, so he just sat there. "DAD! Get in here!" Dean yelled and not a moment later their father was at the door, his expression the same as Dean's at the look of the sickly 14 year old.

"Sammy?" His dad asked. He put his hand on Sam's cheek and felt the warmth underneath the sheet of sweat. "Come on Sam talk to us." His dad pried, and like Sam was snapped out of a trance, he looked from Dean to his dad.

"Dean? Dad?" Sam asked weakly. The smile on his face breaking through. "When did you guys get home?" He asked. He was totally out of it when Dean and his dad were walking though the door.

"Dad what are we going to do?" Dean asked as he dabbed the sweat off of Sam's head.

"I don't know Dean; we should take his temperature for starters." His dad listed.

"I already did." Sam piped up. He pointed to the thermometer sitting next to him.

"What was it Sammy?" Dean asked, looking Sam in the eyes.

"Well…" Sammy tried to stall, but he could tell Dean and his dad weren't messing around. He sighed loudly, "104.2" He mumbled out. Dean's and his dad's eyes about dropped out of their head.

"OK, Dean, I need you to go the ice machine and get as much ice as possible. Sam, I am going to take you to the bathtub all right?" His dad asked as he began to pick up the overheated kid. Sam just let him; there was no fight to it. John put the boy in the bathtub and began to fill it with cold water as Dean disappeared out of the room.

"I'm sorry dad." Sam piped out. "I thought I could handle it."

"No Sam, it's ok, I know you tried." John consoled. The door to the hotel room slammed closed, and Dean appeared at the bathroom door. He began dumping the ice into the water, but the heat from Sam's body was melting it quickly. His teeth were chattering and he was shaking all over.

"Damn it Sam!" Dean yelled as he grabbed the bucket and left the bathroom once again to get more ice.

"Don't worry kiddo, Dean will get over it, we just need to get you better now." John told Sam, who was fading into a sleepy state quickly. John noticed and he grabbed the boy by the soaked clothes and lifted him out of the tub. John handed Sam new clothes, and Sam managed to barely dress himself without falling asleep. John tucked Sam in under the covers, and took bags of ice and laid them under the backs of Sam's knees, under his arms and on the back of his neck. He then sat down next to the bed with Dean and settled in for a long night of waiting and hoping that Sam's fever would go down.

The morning broke quickly and John and Dean were both propped up in chairs next to Sam's bed. He shot up off of the soaked pillows and looked around. When he saw them, he couldn't help but smile, because, even though he wasn't feeling 100% better, he was feeling good enough to know, he did have a family that cared for him very much.


	3. Sam's bad choice

The injury didn't seem that bad, especially because Sam didn't want to be a little girl and go crying to his dad and Dean every time he got injured on a hunt. He wanted to be able to take care of himself for once, and by running to them, he knew that getting the respect he wanted meant sucking up the pain of having your side torn open by a werewolf. He had one thing in mind and one thing only; _don't mess up your first werewolf hunt. _

The 16 year old stood only about 5'8. He maybe weighed 109 lbs soaking wet, but his dad had the same expectations of him as he did his 6'3, 180 lb big brother. He couldn't disappoint.

Sam peeled off his shirt quietly, trying not to stir the two older Winchesters. He had to hold back the painful hisses as he peeled it off of the fresh wound on his side. Thankfully when it happened, Dean had not been in the room, he was off trying to find his gun, which he dropped on the way in stupidly and Sam never saw it coming.

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**Eight Hours Earlier:**

"Make sure you pack enough shirts for at least three days and two nights. No telling how long we will have to track this bastard." John's gruff voice called out to Sam and Dean, who were packing their bags with multiple things for the hunt.

"This is true, but once we do," Dean held up his hand in a gun and pretended to shoot it. "Isn't it Sammy?" Dean turned to the 16 year old and ruffled his long brown hair.

"Dean, stop." Sam ducked out from under his big brothers hand, annoyed but excited and anxious as well.

"Well someone is irritable this morning." John chuckled. Their dad rarely ever cracked jokes, but it seemed when he did, they were at Sam's expense. Sam just rolled his eyes as he made sure he packed plenty of gauze and other things that he might need if one of them got injured. He shoved it in the bag just as Dean came up beside him, and leaned on him.

"Dad doesn't mean it." He whispered. Grabbing the rest of his clothes off of the bed sitting on the bed.

"Well, I just wish he wouldn't be a dick." Sam whispered back. Once again rolling his eyes.

"Come on boys, it is time to go." John's gruff voice called to them. Dean and Sam grabbed their bags and with a tired huff walked out of the door to the motel.

The drive was quite, Sam knew if he tried to strike up conversation, there would be an argument between him and his dad, and he didn't want that. He just wanted a nice, quite drive to an abandoned colony house, in the middle of nowhere. The silence was short lived though, as John began going over the drill with his sons, how Dean and Sam needed to stick together and _never _under any circumstance separate, because the werewolf does its best hunting on individual prey. Sam heard him sigh loudly as he looked in the rearview mirror at him.

"Sam, are you ready?" John asked the young boy who was now looking down at his gun. Sam rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Yes. I don't know why you keep asking me things like this, ask Dean for a change." Sam snapped. His anger finally boiling over at the fact that he was 16 and John was still treating him like a child.

"Don't you raise your voice to me" John yelled, making Sam flinch. Dean just sighed from the front seat.

"Will you guys quit it, I am trying to pre-game." Dean said nonchalantly. He was always trying to be the mediator, but sometimes Sam wished he would see the person their father actually was.

They pulled up to the creepy, dark house. Sam and Dean exited the car, standing next to their father.

"Listen boys, I want you to go in and clear the house. I am going to go around back and check the barn. Make sure you stay together, you got that?" Their father asked them trying to keep his voice down. Dean and Sam nodded their heads, knowing they had heard the _stay together _speech one to many times.

"We got this dad, s'not difficult." Dean coaxed the obviously worried dad. "I doubt the werewolf would be stupid enough to be holed up in his own place." Dean concluded now looking at Sam.

"Dean, I will be fine." Sam sighed at his big brother as he pushed past him. Gun at the ready in his hand. Dean patted his back softly, checking for his gun, upon feeling the bulge, he followed closely behind Sam. Their dad walked them up to the bottom of the stairs, and with a parting glance and head nod, he disappeared into the dark moonless night.

"Sam, I want you to go in first, make sure your gun is at the ready. Even though these things _usually _don't stay in their own houses, doesn't mean they never do." Dean instructed Sam. But Sam wasn't having anymore orders for today, and he simply stomped up the stairs and pushed open the door carelessly. Dean gasped lightly at the rebellion and followed Sam's lead by stomping up the creaky wooden staircase. He then proceeded to grab Sam by the collar of the shirt. "I don't think you understand, I am the older brother, so you take **my **orders when we are alone, and that doesn't involve the attitude. Do I make myself clear?" Dean harshly whispered in Sam's face.

"Loud and clear, _dad." _Sam sarcastically answered, shaking loose of Dean's grip. He stalked into the old dark house, gun poised at the ready. Dean sighed loudly and followed Sam, making his way to take the lead. He reached around to the back of his pants and pulled the lump out of the back of his pants.

"What the…" Dean faded out as he felt the object in the completely black room.

"What?" Sam asked smartly.

"I think…" Dean stopped and groaned loudly. "Sam don't move, I think my gun fell when I was getting out of the car." Dean admitted. Trying to sound cool, but knowing that if their dad found out that Dean went into a case unprepared he would never hear the end of it. "Just can you do me a huge favor." Dean begged Sam, knowing he couldn't see his facial expressions but knowing that Sam was smirking in the darkness.

"Well, there are stipulations." Sam breathed. He stopped when he heard the angry growl of Dean coming from right in front of him.

"I will be right back, don't you move Sam, and I'm serious." Dean harshly said. He then proceeded to walk out of the building, the only way Sam knew was by the sound of the creaky wooden stairs. He stood for a minute listening to his own heart beating loudly. Then, he heard a guttural growl that made him turn on his heels.

"Dean? Is that you?" There was no response, and Dean felt his heart begin to skip beats. "This isn't funny Dean." Sam yelled into the darkness and again nothing. He began to walk towards the door, but something big and hard hit him from behind, like someone had jumped on his back. A white hot pain ripped through his side and he fell to the ground face first. Sam managed to turn onto his back, he was staring into the eyes of a very pissed off, very hungry werewolf. The grip on his gun tightened. "Dumbass dick." Sam chuckled weakly and he held the gun up to the werewolf's heart and pulled the trigger. The echo of the gun reverberated throughout the house, and Sam felt the tightness on his arms release as the werewolf fell to the ground next to him. Sam laid there for a second, knowing the creature had done some damage to his now burning side. He knew he had to cover up the wound because his dad would consider this a failure if he got hurt. He scooped some of the pooling blood from the ground and smeared it on his shirt and some on his face. Figuring it was good enough, he turned just in time to see his brother reach the door.

"Sam?" He yelled when he saw the bloodied young boy kneeling on the ground next to the dead body. He ran over to his side and he helped Sam to his feet. "Are you all right?" He asked. Giving Sam a once over.

"Yeah, just got all this blood on me." Sam winced as he tried to laugh. He knew Dean didn't see him, because it was still to dark to completely see each other.

"All right, just making sure." Dean finished. He looked down at the dark mass of a body and chuckled lightly. "Well Sammy, I think you did pretty good for your first werewolf hunt." Dean applauded loudly just as Sam heard the loud panting of their father at the door.

"Sam, Dean?" He asked as he rushed to their side. "Who killed it?" He asked.

"Well…" Dean began.

"I killed it, Dean didn't see it hiding in the shadows and when he went for the leap, I got him in the heart." Sam boasted proudly. Even in the dark room, Sam could see the grin spreading across John's face.

"Well, that's my boy." He laughed. He slapped Sam on the shoulder and felt the warm blood. "Sam did you get hurt?" John's hurried tone broke the happy mood.

"What?" Sam asked thinking he had been caught. "Oh no, the blood, I slid it in cause' I couldn't see it." Sam laughed it off. But in reality, he was starting to get woozy from the loss of blood. He tried to breathe through the obvious pain.

"Well Sam you need to be more careful, but, good job son." John congratulated him once again. He then turned to where Dean was standing hunched over, knowing that Sam lied for him to keep John in his good spirits. "Well, Dean lets go ahead and take the body out back and burn it. We will let Sam get cleaned up; all that blood has to be making him gag by now." John chuckled lightly and Sam just agreed, which caught Dean by surprise.

"Sam, you sure you're all right?" Dean asked. His voice dripping with obvious worry.

"Yeah Dean why wouldn't I be?" Sam asked as he made his way to the door. Once in the fresh mountain air, Sam breathed in slowly and deeply trying to steady his breathing. _You will be ok Sam Winchester. You will be ok. _He kept telling himself all the way to the car. _Don't worry they don't know, just act normal. _He whispered in his head. He reached the car and began to rely heavily on it just to stand. He opened one of the doors and sat on the seat with his legs hanging out. He knew he had to do something fast before he passed out. He grabbed his book bag and ripped it open; before he removed the gauze he took a look around and listened very hard at the chattering of his brother and his dad. He lifted his shirt with a ton of pain and let out a hiss as he saw the blood oozing out of the fresh irritated wound. He grabbed the gauze and packed it into the wounds, hissing in pain, but still being quite enough to be able to hear the conversation between Dean and John. Which was drawing closer. Sam swooped down his shirt and threw his backpack aside, with the remaining gauze he had in his hand, he began to wipe his face and neck. John and Dean showed up next to him.

"Wow Sam, you sure did slide in it." John laughed. But he scanned over Sam just in case. In seeing nothing but the blood all over Sam, John sighed ordering Dean to pop the trunk on the impala. He did. And they both walked back there to drop their stuff in it. Sam heard some whispers, about him no doubt. But he ignored them, on a count of him trying everything to stay in the world of the conscious. He swung his legs into the back of the impala just as John and Dean got comfortable in their right places in the front seat.

The hotel room was chilly when they got back, perfect for the hot sweaty bodies that were occupying it.

"I'm gonna go shower." Sam announced as soon as they arrived in the room. Dean and John agreed with him, now that they were seeing the bloody mass that was Sam. Dean was worried when he saw a lump forming just over Sam's left eyebrow, like he hit his head.

"Sam, did you hit your face on something?" Dean asked, drawing his dad's attention to the bruising mass.

"Yeah, when I slid." Sam lied expertly. He then glanced in the mirror and noticed not only the amount of blood covering him, but the fact that he would have a nice shiner over his eye when he woke up in the morning.

Once in the safety of the bathroom, Sam began to peel off his blood soaked shirt. _Damn it _he cursed internally, as to not let the older Winchester's hear him. Sam then turned his body to the mirror and looked down at three large gashes going from right below where his peck muscle would be, to the lower part of his back. _That bastard got me good. _Sam thought while he stared at the most painful, deep scratch in the center. _I have to clean these up. _He thought to himself. But before even thinking about that, Sam went over to the shower and turned on the water, making it seem like he was in already. Then he heard Dean and John start talking about Sam's "heroic" rescue of Dean, and why Dean let his guard down. Dean began apologizing, just as a dizzy spell hit Sam and he grabbed onto the sink for support. _Damn it. _Sam screamed in his head. _I just have to wait a few more seconds. _Sam coaxed himself into standing in the upright position.

Once everything was cleaned, and he realized that he really did need a shower, he got in. The steam was thick and the water burned his wounds very badly, but he knew he had to act as normal as possible. He got out, patted around the wound that was now freshly cleaned and packed with gauze. He pulled his shirt over it, and took a deep breath before opening the door. When he looked around he saw his dad under the covers, presumably asleep and Dean watching an old horror movie, drifting into sleep. Sam crawled into the bed next to Dean and lay on his good side. But the covers rubbing the wound made him whimper slightly.

"Sammy?" Dean asked worried, rolling over to look at Sam's back. "Sam?" Dean asked again upon getting no response.

"Yeah Dean?" Sam finally was able to collect enough strength to answer.

"Are you ok?" He asked. Touching Sam's shoulder, he could tell Sam was shaking a little. But he knew his brother would never tell him what was really wrong.

"Dean, im fine, I am just really tired. Can we go to sleep now?" Sam asked in an irritated tone of voice. In response, Dean just rolled over and tried to close his eyes. Not four hours later, Dean felt the shift in the bed and his eyes shot open. But he knew that if he asked Sam what was going on, Sam would just tell him to go back to sleep. So he just lay there listening very closely, and with a small shift of his eyes, Dean could see Sam in the reflection of the mirror. He saw Sam walk past the mirror, holding his side carefully and go into the bathroom. Sam closed the door, and turned on the light. _What is going on? _Dean thought to himself.

Sam stood in the small motel bathroom and peeled away the shirt that was currently sticking to the gashes on his side. When they were fully exposed, he realized that they were red hot and swollen, but he knew he couldn't go out and get a bottle of vodka to pour over his side, his dad might get curious. So, he had to improvise. Sam grabbed a rag off of the towel rack and ran some hot water over it, he knew this was going to hurt, but he had to be quite. He took the rag and scrubbed hard over the wounds. His eyes teared up and his whole body began to shake harshly, but he knew he couldn't scream or cry because the two older Winchesters were quite sensitive to Sam's emotions. Sam finished scrubbing away the obvious top infection of the wounds, and held onto the sink for support while he caught his breath.

"Sam!" Sam heard Dean yell from the other side of the door. "Sam, open this door and tell me what the hell is going on." Dean sounded angry and Sam knew he only had a few minutes to answer before Dean tried to break down the door.

"Hold on Dean, can't I just use the bathroom in peace?" Sam yelled back slipping his shirt on quickly and finishing rinsing the rag. He threw open the door to a very angry looking Dean and John.

"Sam, do you have something to tell us?" John's gruff voice cut the silence like a sharp knife. His stare bore a hole through Sam's forehead.

"No I don't." Sam sighed back as he pushed past the two older men. Just as he passed Dean, Dean reached out and hit Sam on the side. Sam fell to his knees and winced in pain. The white hot burning began again.

"Sam, what is wrong with you?" Dean dropped to his knees next to his pained brother. Sam was too in pain to respond, so he just settled on lifting his shirt slightly. Dean and John saw three freshly bleeding wounds. They let out hisses and immediately hoisted Sam up onto the bed. Sam's tears began falling down his cheeks as John went to get his hunting knife, to no doubt cut away Sam's shirt.

The knife cutting the fabric of the shirt was loud, but Sam was more in pain than he had ever been before. Dean and John were talking to the now passing out boy, all he heard were the garbled voices asking him to hold on. When they saw the full wound they let out sighs and curses quietly.

"Why didn't you tell us Sammy?" Dean scolded, but when he didn't hear a response he walked over to Sam's side. "Sam?" He asked as he leaned over the now passed out boy. "Dad!" Dean yelled to a now obviously freaked out John. John stalked over to Dean's side.

"Ok we need to get a needle and some fishing line. We have to clean out the wound and sew this up." John barked at Dean.

"We can't we have to take him to a hospital or something…" Dean croaked out, but John just shook his head.

"We can't. We have to do this." John then proceeded to get the supplies himself. He was throwing stuff around and trying to find the necessary supplies, but Dean couldn't move. All he could do was cradle the young fragile looking boy's face.

"Sam, you know I am tired of trying to save you all the time." Dean said into Sam's ear, only because he knew Sam couldn't hear him. John appeared at the bathroom door with the large bore needle and the fishing line tight in hand. The bottle of whiskey propped up in the bend of his elbow. He held the supplies out to Dean who quickly took it. Dean knew he was going to regret what he had to do, or at least what he had to watch his father do. Dean knew he wasn't going to be able to thread the thick needle through Sam's delicate skin. So he knew he was going to have to hold him down. John began to thread the needle, and he kept glancing from Dean to Sam, and back to Dean.

"You are going to have to hold him down." John commented to Dean as he realized Dean already knew.

"Yeah I know." Dean whimpered quietly.

"Ok, are you ready?" John asked as he moved over to Sam's side. "Luckily, we mainly have to stitch up the two outer wounds; the third one isn't that deep." John said as he examined the bleeding wounds. "We need to get ready." John warned the now shaking Dean.

Every time the needle broke through Sam's skin, even in an unconscious state, he cried out loudly.

Once the deed was done, and Sam was resting comfortably. Dean and John were cleaning the blood off of their hands.

"I don't know why he wouldn't tell us." Dean sighed.

"Neither do I Dean, but I did realize something through all this." John chuckled.

"And what was that?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Sam really has grown up a lot, and I think he deserves a hunter's respect from now on." John's smile spread from ear to ear, and Sam was none the wiser. Or so they thought. Unknowingly through all the pain he was feeling, Sam was smiling, happy to finally be accepted.


End file.
